


Cryptic Lessons

by nowrunalong



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 04:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: “Uh—Bruce?” Dick calls out, sliding into the kitchen in his socks. He comes to a halt next to the counter and stares wide-eyed at Bruce. “Hey. So, quick question. Why is Superman in the bathtub?”“Ask him yourself,” Bruce says, without looking up from his newspaper.





	Cryptic Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt _Robin discovers Clark in a place he Should Not Be. Confusion ensues._

“Uh—Bruce?” Dick calls out, sliding into the kitchen in his socks. He comes to a halt next to the counter and stares wide-eyed at Bruce. “Hey. So, quick question. Why is Superman in the bathtub?”

“Ask him yourself,” Bruce says, without looking up from his newspaper.

“He’s sleeping.”

“Is he.”

“In the _bathtub_ ,” Dick repeats. “You couldn’t spare a guest bed? Why would you possibly—”

“He was cold.”

“Oh,” Dick says, considering this. And then, frowning: “He can get cold?”

“He has a weakness.”

“And it made him cold?”

“Victor Fries hitting him with a freeze ray made him cold.”

“He’s still wearing his cape,” Dick says, a little impatiently. “And his—everything. His boots, even. It would have helped to—”

“Couldn’t have helped. He was frozen solid.”

“Oh,” Dick says again. He leans against the counter on his elbows. Bruce is still looking at the Saturday crossword rather than at Dick, and seems entirely unperturbed. “Well, I think he’s defrosted all the way,” Dick tries, “because he was definitely snoring.”

Bruce does look up at that. “Snoring,” he echoes.

“Gently snoring,” Dick clarifies. “But yeah.”

“Hmm.”

“I think we should make him some tea. Or coffee, maybe? Do you know if he likes coffee?”

“He doesn't.”

* * *

“Hey… Superman?” Dick taps on the half-open door. Out of politeness, he waits for a response before pushing it open all the way. It’s several seconds before he gets one.

“I’m decent. You can come in.”

Dick opens the door. Superman is still in the bathtub.

“I have coffee,” Dick says. He sets the cup down on the side of the tub. “Bruceman—I mean Bat—uh.” Dick covers his mouth with his hand, aghast.

“It's fine,” Superman reassures him. “I know who he is.” 

“Oh, good.” Dick breathes out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Well, Bruce said you like ‘sugar and creamer with a dash of coffee.’ He may have been exaggerating, but I wasn’t sure, so there’s a lotta cream in there. And he also—wait, how do you know—?”

“Bruce and I have been working closely together for years.”

Dick gives Superman a moment of pause to finish that train of thought, except he doesn’t say anything else, so perhaps it had just been a very short train.

“Right,” Dick says. “So how come he doesn’t have you ‘round for dinner?”

“Ask him yourself,” Superman says.

“Aw, man. Don’t tell me you’ve been taking cryptic lessons from Batman.”

Superman smiles. “Sorry, Robin. I didn’t mean to obfuscate. Sometimes things are complicated—like my partnership with Bruce. I know you understand that.”

“Does he know your secret identity, too? You have one, right? You’re not Superman all the time?”

“I do. And yes, he knows.”

“ _Wow._ ”

“So, he doesn’t… talk about me?” Superman asks hesitantly.

“Er,” Dick says. “Maybe a little bit.”

* * *

“That water can’t be remotely warm anymore,” Bruce says, when he enters the bathroom.

“It’s not,” Clark agrees. “But as soon as I stand up, I’m going to realize just how soggy this suit is.”

Bruce opens up the cabinets and pulls out several enormous, fluffy towels. He sits them next to the empty coffee mug on the side of the tub.

“Thank you,” Clark says, and then before Bruce can leave again, adds: “You know, Dick and I were talking.”

Bruce narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

“Why _haven’t_ you invited me to dinner? Here?”

“And who would I be inviting? Superman, or Clark Kent?”

“That’s not fair, Bruce. This was always going to be complicated. Do you not want him to find out? He seems like a good kid. I’d love to get to know him.”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

“You don’t need to protect my identity from your family, Bruce. I trust you, and Dick by extension. Besides, Alfred already knows.”

“Hm,” Bruce says.

“Okay. Well, I should go.”

“I’ll lend you a suit.”

“Bruce, I—”

“You’ll want to get that one off. It’s wet. I’ll lend you a dry one. Alfred’s making fettuccine.”

Slowly, Clark grins.

“One more thing,” Bruce says.

“Yeah?”

“Dick says you were snoring.”

Clark looks affronted.

“I was not.”

“I was surprised, too.”

“I don’t _snore_.”

“The combination of ice and Kryptonite must have affected your breathing.”

“And Dick heard?” Clark asks, dismayed. “Gosh, I’m making a terrible first impression.”

“You were asleep in a bathtub wearing a cape and knee-high boots. I’m sure the snoring was a secondary impression.”

“Oh,” Clark says. “Right.”

“Now, stand up and get that off,” Bruce says, gesturing with an impatient hand.

“You’re just jealous I can stay in a bathtub for hours without pruning up,” Clark says. He does stand, though. His cape hangs like a dead weight off his shoulders. The effects of the Kryptonite have mostly worn off, but the sensation of the suit clinging to his skin is still unpleasant. Clark smiles mischievously.

“Goddammit, Clark, don’t you dare—”

Too late. Clark is wrapping the cape around Bruce like a horrible, soggy blanket and pulling him close. “Oops,” he says.

“You’re uninvited from dinner,” Bruce says stiffly.

* * *

“Superman will be joining us for dinner,” Bruce says, returning to the kitchen with Clark in tow and donning a new suit.

“Really?” Dick says, spinning around excitedly. “Tonight? Where is he?”

Clark waves from the doorway. His hair is still damp. “Hey.”

Dick’s eyes go wide. “Wow. You’re Superman?”

“Sometimes. But you can call me Clark.”

“Clark,” Dick says, beaming, and shakes his hand. “I’m really glad you’re unfrozen. Bruce gets cranky when he’s worried about you.”

“Master Clark,” Alfred interjects warmly, before Bruce can dispute this. “So wonderful of you to join us. I hope it won’t take another catastrophe to convince Master Bruce to extend a dinner invitation your way.”

Clark is pretty sure it won’t. He’s already been invited to stay the night, with the caveat that Bruce will kick him out of bed if he snores.

“That would be great,” he says. “Your bathtub is a lot bigger than mine.”

“We have a jacuzzi, too,” Dick says excitedly. “I bet Bruce would let you use it.”

Bruce resolutely looks anywhere but at Clark’s face.

“I’ll ask him sometime,” Clark says.


End file.
